Devaney’s Doctor Daddy by Honey Meyer

Chapter Seven

Eric took his time unbuckling Devaney from her restraints, enjoying the softness of her skin and the languidness of her limbs.

When he’d first seen her in the waiting room she’d looked rigid with tension and when she’d puked in the exam room she’d been mortified and stressed and now… She was fretful about being diapered but he thought she just needed some reassurance and then she’d be more amenable to that as well. She’d already given him so much and he wanted more.

Carefully, he slid the wedge out from beneath her hips and rubbed her soft backside that was still exposed by the open gown. Of course he liked women naked but there was something deliciously deviant about keeping her in a flimsy cotton gown that did more to frame her nudity than cover it.

He helped her turn onto her back without tangling her IV and then slipped an arm under her knees to lift her hips and position the diaper underneath. Her eyes were wide and her face was flushed as he pulled the padding between her thighs and held it to her sweet tummy while he fastened the sticky tabs to the front.

“There’s my sweet buttercup, all ready to be tucked in for the night. You look so adorable in this diaper and your gown. No need to be embarrassed, I like little girls who need to be cared for.”

Her slow blinks and her eyes that struggled to focus told him she’d be knocked out soon—she’d been exhausted and sick when she got here and between the emotional energy she’d expended with Carter and the sedative in the suppositories he’d pressed into her tight, slick bottom she’d be out like a light. He was determined she’d fall asleep with kind words in her head instead of Carter’s demanding harshness, and that she’d wake the same way.

Sad to cover up his precious girl in her darling diaper but resolute that she would be warm and snug tucked in the bed, he tugged the linens up to her chest, leaving her arms out. And then tipped the head of the bed to a slight angle before folding up the two sections of the bedrail.

There. Now Devy was warm and safe and melting into unconsciousness for a long and well-deserved sleep. She’d been so docile, so malleable for him with just a little insistence and some affection, almost as though she’d just been waiting to let go but not trusting anyone in her life to catch her if she fell—not until he came along.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering into her ear, “Goodnight, Devy baby. Sweet dreams.”

Before leaving, he wrote a note and left it on the bedside table lest she wake up before morning and be confused about where she was, and left a nightlight on too. No need to frighten the poor little thing, she’d been through more than enough. And then he eased the door closed, feeling as though he was leaving part of his heart with the little blonde in his inpatient bed.

Normally after work he’d heat up leftovers or throw something together from whatever was in the fridge, finish up any notes he needed to from the day’s work, and do the chores that his housekeeper Galina didn’t take care of when she was there twice a week. It wasn’t always awesome living where he worked but he had to admit that the commute was fantastic.

He felt restless now, though, and chatty. He wanted to talk to someone, tell them about Devy. Someone who would understand how he was feeling—concerned for her health and safety but also elated because she might be the one. Of course he’d get a better sense of that after she was feeling better. If she still looked at him the same way when she was feeling well and healthy.

It was Thursday so Ian and Hudson and Ryker would be busy at Hive, and Arthur would probably be there with Saoirse. He’d sent Marni home early to give her a break from this place so he wouldn’t impose on her until tomorrow, Sable and Jethro were probably putting the twins down for the night, Gunnar would be getting ready for bed since teaching high school meant getting up early, and Gideon was probably tucking Plum in since the cafe owner kept early hours too.

Maybe he’d give Brae a call. He’d been meaning to reach out to him forever and now was as good a time as any. And if his fancy Hollywood ass was too busy, then Eric would leave a voicemail. No harm, no foul.

He started the wash, careful to follow the directions on Devaney’s clothes, and threw together a quick stir-fry. After flicking through news sites on his phone while he ate, he took up his phone and clicked on the contact. He’d convinced himself so thoroughly that Braeker would be out at some swanky bar or on set in some exotic location that he hadn’t entirely prepared to hear his friend’s voice.

“Eric Southerland? Is that you, man? I thought you’d be too busy saving lives to give your old running buddy a call.”

Eric snorted as he walked down the hall to his study. He rarely did work there—it was more a library—so it was a cozy room with lots of plants, a fireplace, comfortable chairs. Yeah there was a desk, but it would gather dust if Galina didn’t deal with it. It helped him not work round the clock if he completed most of his duties on the other side of the breezeway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Brae. You’re the one who can write million dollar checks without giving it a second thought. I’m sure you’ve saved far more lives than I have.”

Not that you would know it if you met Braeker Thompson out in the real world. He’d probably be at a diner, and wearing a T-shirt he got for free for running a road race a decade ago and some jeans that were threadbare where they weren’t ripped. But everyone would recognize pics of his friend from the red carpet.

After several lean years of picking up whatever commercials he could and moonlighting as a waiter, Brae had gotten his big break when a much bigger star had had to drop out of a movie. They’d already made all the costumes and props and luckily, as his body double, Braeker literally fit the mold. And as a bonus, had already had most of the lines memorized. Now he was a bigger star than the guy he’d replaced, living the dream out in California.

“Money isn’t everything,” his friend muttered in reply. Before Eric could ask about that cryptic remark, Brae was pressing on. “So to what do I owe this pleasure? You building a pediatric wing of a hospital or something, need me to cut you a check?”

Eric shook his head as he poured a few fingers of bourbon and fished an ice ball out from the bar fridge before dropping down into one of the plush couches. What would Devy look like bent over the back of this, or perhaps the arm, waiting to be spanked? Lovely is what she’d look. God he hoped he wasn’t getting ahead of himself.

“I mean, Clover City General can always use the cash but you know I don’t spend much time there. Seeing new babies sometimes, checking in on peds patients who end up there, sure.”

“And the occasional little who needs your special services?”

Brae was a good natured dude. Easygoing and kind, and, when he felt like it, a hell of a daddy. He knew all about both sides of Eric’s practice and his personal life too. Would come to Hive when he was in town, which was less and less often these days. Maybe they could make that happen soon though, he missed his buddy.

“Yeah, that too.”

Brae’s comment reminded him he should go to the club this weekend since he clearly wasn’t going to make it tonight—see how Cosima was doing with her daddies, get to see some of his other “patients,” maybe play if he could stop thinking about Devy long enough to do a scene with someone else.

“So if it’s not dollar bills, what’re you looking for?”

“Just checking in, it’s been a while.”

He took a sip of his bourbon, letting the liquid pool under his tongue before swallowing and enjoying the pleasant burning warmth as the liquor made its way down his throat.

“And?” Brae prodded, because he was a jackass. A somewhat psychic jackass.

“And something happened today and I wanted to tell someone,” Eric admitted, turning his glass this way and that in the low light.

“It sounds like it was something good, so spill it already, bro. I don’t have all day. I do actually have to look at some lines before I go out.”

“I think I might’ve met someone. I mean, I knew her before. But…not like this.”

“Who is she?”

“The mother of a couple of my peds patients. Divorced,” he said before Brae got the wrong idea.

He knew some people were non-monogamous and that was cool but it had never really appealed to him. Yeah, he liked to play with lots of people because med fet and age play made his brain burst with all the good chemicals, but a long-term romantic partnership? His family? He’d always seen himself with just one woman.

“So how’d that happen? You run into her at the grocery store, reached for the same grapefruit or something like that?”

“No. Definitely not. She was here with her kids for their annuals and she puked on my exam room floor.”

Braeker busted out laughing. “A more perfect Eric Southerland meet-cute couldn’t have been scripted. She sounds like exactly your type. Aw, man, it’s gonna be fun to make that toast at your wedding.”

“Fuck you,” he replied mildly, and took another sip of his bourbon. “She’s got really severe migraines which her ex has never taken seriously and she’s been running herself ragged trying to take care of her sons and…”

What else to say? “I tucked her in upstairs and I don’t think I want her to ever leave”? When he put it like that, it sounded kinda bonkers.

“Have you got her in your inpatient room?” Brae asked, a sly note in his voice.

“How did you—”

“I’ve met you, Eric. You like women who need you, who you can nurse back to health and dote on. Seriously, I’m not sure why you haven’t proposed already.”

This was why he’d called Brae. Yeah, his friend would mock him, but the mocking covered up an undercurrent of understanding. They’d been friends for a long time, since before Braeker had left to try his luck in Hollywood, and they knew each other real well. He didn’t bother trying to deny he’d started thinking seriously about Devaney. Why bother when that was precisely why he’d wanted to talk to someone?

“Mostly because while she’s been pretty pliable for the last couple hours, I have no idea how she’ll feel once this migraine is over. She needs me now, but what if she doesn’t when she’s back to 100 percent? I don’t want her to be sick, obviously—I’m going to try to get her in to see a specialist who might be able to help—but yeah, being responsible for her, making her as comfortable as possible, feeling like she trusts me to know what’s best…I like it.”

He paused to take another sip of his bourbon, letting the liquor singe his tastebuds.

“But if she’s only going to be into this for a few days a month, that’s not going to work. Especially since she shares custody with her asshole ex and she has the kids during the week. She’s not the kind of mom who will ditch her kids for a guy and I wouldn’t want her to be. It just makes less time for all the pervy shit I’m into, that’s all.”

Brae laughed again and Eric smiled.

“I don’t know, man. You’re pretty persuasive. Convinced me to move out to LA to shoot my shot and I knew you’d have my back if I failed. That made it a lot easier. So give her that patented Southerland charm. And if that fails, tell her you know me.”

“I don’t think that would help my case,” he observed wryly.

“Oh, no, it won’t. But maybe she’ll be into me.”

“You fucker,” Eric laughed. “Why don’t we talk about you and your love life, huh?”

“Non-existent. Now tell me more about this woman. What’s she like? I want to know everything.”